


Grams

by impalaimagining



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, spn fanfic, spn fanfiction, supernatural fanfic - Freeform, supernatural fanfiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:16:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalaimagining/pseuds/impalaimagining
Summary: The last name of one of your students rings a bell in your mind, and as soon as you realize why, your life gets turned on its head by nightmares that seem a little too much like memories for your liking.





	Grams

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: demon possession, nightmares, hallucinations, daddy!Dean

“Winchester. Why does that sound familiar?” You tapped your pen against your lips as you stared at the last name of one of your students. “ _Winchester._ ” Your eyes widened and you pushed back away from your desk. Pulling out your old photo album, you flipped right to the oldest photo in the book. Your Grams was standing there holding the infant version of you, flanked by two rough-looking boys, the oldest of whom couldn’t have been older than thirteen. You tore the photo from its plastic protector and flipped it over. Squinting, you could barely make out the faded scribbling on the yellowed back.

_“Dolly,_

_Call us if you need anything. Ever. We’ll be there as fast as we can._

_JW”_

You never believed her stories. You always thought her dementia had gotten the best of her and she was just rambling on about the, “dreamy man who swooped in and rescued her and her grandbaby from that evil thing.” But… Winchester. How common could that name have been, really? After your eyes skimmed over the scrawled words one more time, you flipped the photo over and slipped it back into its place. You shuffled and reorganized the papers, clipping together the ones you’d already read over and graded, then tucked them back into your bag to finish up the next day.

* * *

Your sleep was restless, and although you swore you were alone in your house, you heard Grams’ voice, singing the praises of the Winchesters over and over again.

_“Aren’t you just the most precious little thing.” She cooed into your crib. “And to think, those rotten parents of yours were going to keep you from me. They thought something was wrong with your sweet old Grams. Oh, but sweetie, there’s nothing wrong with me at all. In fact, I’m probably your only hope at this point, especially now that we got rid of those utter wastes of space you would’ve called Mama and Papa.” The wrinkles surrounding her right eye deepened as she winked. Her smile quickly faded as her usually bright blue eyes turned into blazing yellow orbs. A sinister grin spread across her face as her head tilted to the left and her shaky hands stretched out toward you. Her claw-like nails dug into the soft, squishy flesh of your arm as you wailed. From behind Grams, a deep voice bellowed words you still didn’t understand._

You jumped awake, a sheen of sweat beading across your forehead and your hands balled in fists, slammed against the mattress below you. Throwing the sheets off your body, you swung your feet around and pushed them onto the plush carpet. You walked to the bathroom and ran the cold water, cupping it in your hands and splashing it up on your face.

_Was that a memory or a nightmare? It couldn’t have been a memory. You were less than a year old when Grams claimed all of her worst dreams came true. There was no way you could’ve remembered that… right?_

After washing your face a few times, you decided to sink down into a warm bath to hopefully help calm your nerves and get you back to sleep sooner rather than later. Flicking the spigot off with your left foot, you sighed and closed your eyes. The steaming water surrounded your body and subtle lavender scents filled your nose.

You were one hundred percent positive you’d closed the bathroom door all the way, so when the faint creaking sound of it opening echoed in your ears, your eyes popped open and you sat up straight, reaching for your towel and pulling it over your chest.

“Who’s there?” You called into the dimly lit room, your voice bouncing off the tiles. There was no answer, and the door remained ajar. Your house wasn’t exactly new, so you chalked the door up to a busted latch and the foundation settling, but it was still unnerving. Pulling the plug on the tub, you listened to the gurgle of the drain as the water emptied and you toweled yourself off, then wrapped your silk bathrobe around your shoulders. As you padded through the hallway, you cautiously peered around each corner and double checked that you were alone.

The rest of your night was filled with paranoid eyes, shifting and searching the room. Every little shadow that moved in the moonlight was enough to put you on the edge of your bed, feet on the floor and your hand on the knob to your bedside drawer.

Under the bible that your Grams insisted you take after she died, you had a hidden door and a pistol sitting beside three bullets. Grams would’ve killed you if she’d known you had a gun, but it was her husband who insisted you protect yourself, and then gifted the weapon to you on your eighteenth birthday. You’d never used it, never even took it to the range to get some practice, but you had it. It was there in case of a dire emergency. The sun peeked through the shades before you realized you’d never settled back into the sheets, so you rose and brewed a pot of coffee.

* * *

That night, sleep came no easier. Everything felt so… different. Something had changed the second you recalled the story of the Winchester man and his sons. It was like pulling that photo from Grams’ old album triggered something cosmic. You were sure you’d never get a full night’s sleep again.

“Salt.” You whispered, heading for the kitchen. Reaching into your cabinet, you grabbed the canister of table salt sitting on the third shelf and shook your head, laughing lightly. “I cannot believe I’m using a _seasoning_ to help me get some sleep.”

Still smiling to yourself, you walked back to your bedroom and sprinkled a line of salt across your doorway, then climbed back into bed, setting the canister on your nightstand and flipping off the light. As you nestled into your pillow, a low hum came from the hallway.

“Clever.” The dark voice was followed by a chilling laugh, then a cold breath danced across your face. You clamped your eyes shut and squeezed your hands into fists, nails digging into your palms.

“You’re not real, you’re not real…” You whispered into the darkness. One eye slowly opened as you unclenched your fist. The glowing yellow eyes had disappeared. You knew it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real… _right_?

After that night, you lined your bedroom with salt each night before bed, vacuuming it up each morning before you headed off to the school. A few of your students noticed the tiredness growing on your face. The Tuesday after the nightmares had started, you flipped through your weekly planner.

“Shit.” You huffed, holding your head in your hands. It was parent-teacher conference night. In the midst of everything that had happened over the course of the last few days, you had completely forgotten to prepare anything for the conferences. The kids were at recess so you took the fifteen minutes you had left to browse Pinterest for quick and easy ideas to spruce things up and make it look like you gave a damn.

* * *

6:30pm and the parents were flowing in already. They each sat at the small chairs by their children’s desks, an extra chair beside each in the cases where both parents were still in the picture. One by one, in alphabetical order, you called the last names of the children you’d spent every weekday with, their parent or parents walking to you with a tight smile on their faces. After the first individual meeting, you were spent, but you continued on with the same fake smile you’d worn all hours of that day. You mindlessly spoke about the children and how wonderful they were, or warned the parents about issues you thought the students might be having. It was almost painful for you to be sitting there. The classroom emptied out after each conference, until finally, it was just you and one man sitting in the back of the classroom.

“Winchester.” Your eyes met those of the man clad in a button down and leather jacket. You couldn’t shake the feeling that came over your body as he took tentative steps toward you. He could see it on your face, something was wrong.

“Is everything okay? Did Hunter do something wrong?” He rolled his eyes and sank into the chair across from your desk at the front of the room.

“No, Hunter is - he’s a sweetheart. I don’t think he could do wrong if he tried.” You smiled, sincerely meaning what you were saying for the first time that night.

“You look… unsure of something.” He raised his eyebrows, awaiting your answer.

“No, it - it’s nothing. I just… **I seem to remember a home that was better,** but recently I - I think someone is messing with me.” You shook your head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, I can’t _not_ ask you this.” You looked at your lap.

“Go ahead.” He prompted.

“I - I don’t even know where to start. I guess, um… Did you know - or do you remember Dolores Y/L/N? You - you might’ve called her Dolly.” Your eyes moved slowly up to meet his again.

“Dolly… you know, it does sound familiar, but I can’t - _oh my God._ You’re Y/N. The baby we saved, that was _you_.” His eyes widened as the facts washed over him.

“You do remember.” You breathed a sigh of relief and felt your entire body relax, as if a giant weight had been taken off your shoulders.

“Of course I remember. Your grandmother was the sweetest thing.” He smiled, eyes looking at nothing as he recalled the day he met Grams.

“I just - okay, I know this is supposed to be all about Hunter but, I need answers. What _happened_ with Grams? She - was she possessed or something? I remember her eyes turning yellow…” You shuddered at the memory.

“She didn’t - damn it, she didn’t… _bleed_ in your mouth or anything, right?” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What? I - no, I don’t think so. I was just a baby though, I can’t be sure.” You were baffled and disgusted. Why would that have been a concern?

“Alright, well I - unfortunately I have to go pick up Hunter from his uncle’s house but I do want to pick this up at some point. There are some things we have to talk about.” He stood and you followed suit, adjusting your skirt and reaching out your hand.

“It was nice to meet you Mr. Winchester.” You gave him a smile.

“It was nice to _see you again_ , Y/N. And, please, just call me Dean.” He gripped your hand gently and shook it, returning the kind smile. “You have my phone number on the class list, right?” You nodded. “Good, give me a call later this week and we can talk this weekend.” With that, he turned and left your classroom, your head spinning. What could he have to talk about? How bad would it be?

* * *

Two nights later, Thursday night, around midnight, you had just drifted off to sleep when your bedroom door creaked open. Your heart began racing, your eyes popped open, and you stared at the doorway. Reaching over to your nightstand, you fumbled in the darkness for your phone, pulling it back to your chest and unlocking it. You scrolled through your contacts and found the name you were looking for. Internally, you debated for a few seconds before inhaling sharply and tapping the contact, dialing the number.

“Hello?” A sleepy grumble came through the receiver.

“Dean?” You whimpered quietly. “Dean something is happening. I need help.”

“Text me your address. I’ll be right there.” Dean jumped out of bed and pulled on his jeans and coat, peeking into Hunter’s room and making sure he was still asleep before snagging the keys off the counter and running to his car. Once in the driver’s seat, he pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his brother. “Sammy, hey. I need you to come to my place and watch Hunter for a little while. Something happened with his teacher.” He paused and waited for Sam to agree. “Yeah, she’s okay, I think. But something’s going on. She knows yellow eyes.” Sam shouted something at his older brother, but Dean just told him to take care of Hunter and hung up.

You were paralyzed in your bed when Dean came bursting through the door. He ran into your room, stepping over the salt line and looking at you curiously.

“Salt? Who taught you that?” He tried to hide his smile.

“Heard it somewhere, I forget.” You spat, breathing heavily and tightened your fists around the blankets you’d been holding to ground yourself. “He was here, Dean. The door opened and he was standing there, watching me. I could feel him.” Dean stepped toward your bed carefully.

“Can - can I…?” His eyes moved to the end of your bed, asking without as many words if he could sit there. You nodded. “Hey, listen to me Y/N, it’s going to be okay. You did the right thing calling me. Talk to me, tell me everything, every little detail from the second this started.”

You went on to tell him of the nightmares, of the bathroom door, then the yellow-eyed man laying beside you in your bed. As you recounted the events of your past week, tears spilled over in your eyes. Dean’s face fell as he watched you cry, clearly traumatized by what had been happening. You sat up and leaned forward, your face covered by your palms.

“Hey, come here.” Dean outstretched his arm and invited you in. You willingly accepted and curled into his side, pulling your knees up to your chest. “We’re gonna get you through all of this, okay?” You sniffled and nodded, looking up at him through wet eyelashes. “I’ve got’cha sweetheart. Don’t worry.” His hand rubbed up and down your upper arm.

You were still absolutely terrified of whatever was going on in your heart and in your mind, but for just a second, you felt safe with the promise of Dean helping you through all of this.


End file.
